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It is that bright glow in the distant fog that bothers me these nights. I am at my best after the hours of 12 AM but that light - the bright glowing light in the distance - is starting to wear me down. If it were a lighthouse or the simple over-reaching light of a house, I do not think it would bother me so.

This light draws my attention to a greater problem, that there is fog and cold but no rain. There are days where the sky is so dark that it should rain and, at times, there are crackles in the air that I mistake for rain. My heart sinks each time that I remember, the rain will be gone. There will no more chance for rain very soon.

This afternoon, I embraced the dark hold of the cold air that circulated through our apartment - thanks to my housemate Stacy who always leaves the windows wide open. I laid down in my bed instead of working on my post that I had promised. My bedroom, cold for once, was more stifling than usual. I could not think clearly but it was not the hungover or foggy sort of thinking that you would assume to trouble one after a night of drinking - or rather morning of drinking since my hours were so strange. The thoughts were... slow. They came with difficulty and though I could grasp them, they did not make sense to me. It was as though my own thoughts were in another language.

It was very queer. The most upsetting fact was that though I had my headphones in, I did not welcome the company of music. I simply wanted to block out the world, though I did not realize it at the time since my thoughts were not coming clearly. I knew something was wrong and switched the headphones for earplugs. The queer thoughts only became worse as I sat in my bed and looked out through my window.

I never did like the window open in our bedroom. I found it much more welcoming with darkness. It's better with the door closed and no one home. The world is better alone.

And, the tears came.

For no reason at all, I cried in my bed. I hugged my pillow and tried to think of some reason why I was crying, or to think of a reason to cry. It felt good to cry. Well, not exactly. It felt like, a cry after you have been shamed or forced to give up something. I ... haven't had anything like that recently, have I?

It almost felt as though I was crying because I couldn't say goodbye. Or perhaps I was crying to say goodbye? I couldn't figure it out. The tears made me think: maybe I am in a low. Maybe I am having an episode? I gave in to the comfort of the bed and slipped into a deep sleep.

I did not wake with music in my head. Thank goodness.